I'd Stump the Shit out of You
by Zighana
Summary: Mitch thinks about one of his captors. Takes place during the deleted scene. One-sided Mitch/Michonne, smut. NC-17.


**I'd Stump the Shit out of You**

 _Mitch laments over one of his boss's captives. One-sided Mitch/Michonne, takes place during the deleted scene._

Mitch didn't understand why Brian made him keep watch over the captives. He had much better things to do, like clean his guns, quietly grieve over the loss of his brother, or ask Tara and her girlfriend if he could join in one of their romps.

Instead, he's sitting in front of One-Legged Santa Claus and Rasta Bitch. Seems Rasta Bitch is the main one Brian is afraid of; he has her tied by the hands in the front, her eyes boring into his soul with indignation. Santa Claus looks on, his blue eyes and calm demeanor being a contrast to the intimidating woman. This has got to be rich; he went from cleaning tanks and fighting in the army to baby sitting a one- legged jolly man and a Tia Dalma reject. The humor isn't lost on Mitch.

He kicks back, trying, in vain, to start a conversation, anything to not listen to the droning on from Santa Claus about jerky. It's been too long since he had a decent interaction with a human being that goes beyond survival. A woman at that. Her silence is driving him crazy. He's supposed to be intimidating, intelligent, and charming to the opposite sex, and yet he falls short. He's hot-headed, quick with a gun and slow with some social skills, and it's been months since he had a decent shower and clean hygiene. In his eyes, he understands why any woman would be repulsed by him, but right now he doesn't care.

He wants a reaction from this dark-skinned mute; he wants to know she acknowledges him and is enthralled by his company. Or, willing to have sex with him once Brian is finished with her. She's beautiful, Mitch will admit to himself. Rich skin, deep set eyes, and lips that look soft and bite-able. He vaguely wonders if her kisses will taste like chocolate. It's also the way she carried herself; even though she's bound and at his mercy, she still has a prideful disposition, still has her head held high like she is somebody. It damn near turns him on.

He realizes Santa Claus is looking at him, his once happy eyes are hardening. Maybe he saw the naughty thoughts that's floating around in Mitch's mind. Maybe he's the real Santa Claus, always knowing who's naughty or nice. His protectiveness over Rasta Bitch raises Mitch's eyebrow. Is she fucking this guy? Did Brian catch them in the throes of passion? The thought makes him cringe. But it makes him curious; if they are together, then he, like a respectable gentleman, will wait until he's dispatched of and keep her all to himself. If not, it's easy pickings.

So he asks him, "Did you ever… _stump_ her?"

He wanted to say _fuck_ , but _stump_ came out from him being mesmerized by that damning leg. Santa Claus crinkles his face in confusion. Is he that dense?

"You know," Mitch slides down in his chair and wiggles his hips. Both of their eyes widen in shock after learning what he meant.

"You ever stumped her?" He repeats, desperate to know. He wanted to know what she felt like, what kind of lover she was, if what they said about black women were true. He could feel his pants tightening at the thought. To his disappointment, Santa Claus shakes his head. He never fucked this woman.

"That's too bad," Mitch leans back in his chair, angling himself so his hardening member is out of view. But he knows Rasta Bitch can see it, and it only makes it worse. He smiles and her eyes flicker over to his, curiosity and disgust evident in her features.

"Because if I had you," he leans forward and looks dead center into her eyes, "I'd _stump_ the _shit_ out of you." His arousal rolls off his tongue in waves.

Her disgust is barely masked; she looks at him as if she's daring him to try. Shock, disgust, rage, offense, all emotions bleeding through every pore that is her.

Uppity bitch; she should be flattered a _real man_ would want to fuck her the way she _should_ be fucked! The many positions, the many hours Mitch would spend on her body, the many places he'd place his tongue and fingers, the many speeds he will go once he's thrusting into her creamy center. She'll be screaming his name until her throat goes hoarse and she'll beg for more. She's getting her a top-knotch man who'll fuck her good and fuck her right. She should be honored.

"It's not polite to stare," he chastises. She's been staring at him ever since he made that statement, not realizing he's turned on beyond belief. He is harder than Chinese Arithmetic, precum leaking through and staining the front of his pants. Those deep brown eyes are going to make him cum right then and there, and he wouldn't give a fuck if Brian walked in and seen it. His Rasta Bitch sits back, her jaw clenching. She's keeping silent. He can't stand a silent woman.

"Don't wanna be civil with me," Mitch pulls out his knife. He wasn't going to do anything with her; he only wanted to scare her into submission. He gets closer, his breath becoming more and more shallow. He could just slice her top so he could look at those perky tits that are begging to be licked. Maybe he'd snip a sliver of fabric off her jeans so he could feel her hot and silky skin. Maybe-

He's thrown on his ass by Rasta Bitch, and he sees she has his knife in her hands. She's quick, he'll give her that. He draws his gun on reflex, letting her know he's always prepared. She drops the knife and they are at a standstill, the only music are their breaths panting in sync. Finally Brian enters, and he is furious.

He assesses the damage. Before Mitch could get a word in, Brian punches him in the face. The impact makes him grunt in surprise. What the hell is wrong with him?

"Not a hair on their head, you hear me? Not a hair on their head!"

Mitch nods solemnly. He gets up, picking up the pieces of his shattered pride and deflated arousal, and runs out of the caravan and into the woods. He needed a place to take out all of his frustrations and push down his embarrassment.

He'd gotten humiliated by Rasta Bitch and Brian. He could just kill them both.

After killing a few walkers and making sure of no witnesses, he leans against a tree and thinks back to that warrior beauty. She, even though getting the best of him, gives him that fire he almost never sees in women these days.

He bites his lip, thinking about her succulent body, those plump lips, those piercing black eyes that reaches his soul. "I'd stump the shit out of you," he breathes out, his hand sliding into his pants, "I'd stump the shit out of you, and make you beg for more."

 _Mitch slams the dreadlocked woman to the ground, his body pinning her there. Those brown eyes widen in surprise as Mitch looks down at her._

" _Don't be afraid," he whispers against her lips, "I'll go real slow."_

 _He kisses her lips, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. It taste so sweet, just like he imagined. He kisses her nice and slow, earning soft moans of pleasure as he uses his right hand to slide up her shirt and fondle her breast. His lips grace her lips, her cheeks, her neck, and her collarbone. His tongue descends lower, licking off her sweat and grit. He takes out his knife and makes quick work of her shirt and is greeted by the naked flesh of his captive. Two globes of shiny, aroused, flesh greets his eye and he swoops in for the kill._

Mitch is stroking his cock, his low groans catch in his throat.

 _He pops the left breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling over the nipple before sucking it in. He repeats this action three times before heading over to her right. Her breathy moans are music to his ears, those delicate looking hands running through his hair. He leaves her breasts, glistening and satisfied, and works his way down the flat plane of her toned belly. He looks up at her, eyes mischievous as his tongue fiddles with the button on her jeans. Without any provocation, he pops the button off with his teeth and he slides the zipper down with his tongue. He grabs the jeans and peel them off, greeted by dark green panties. Green is one of his favorite colors. He's pleased to see the saturation of those green panties right between her thighs. He laps at the center, his nose nuzzling against her mons. The musky smell greets his senses and he wants more._

His breaths become more ragged, this fantasy overriding his senses. She's here, so close, he could smell her, hear her, taste her…

" _I'm going to eat you," He breathes against her panties, "I'm going to eat you until my face is dripping in cum." He pushes them to the side and laps at her lips._

 _He moves his tongue in a circular motion, tasting and feeling before spreading the lips and lapping at her folds. She's bucking underneath him, her hands trying to push him inside. He swats her lip and growls against her. He's the man, therefore he's the one in control. Taking the hint, she sighs as she lies back on the linoleum. He gets to work, zig-zagging her folds and runs his tongue over her clit. He suckles softly, taking care to hum against her. Flicking it at a rapid pace, he is proud to hear her moans get louder and more urgent. He gives her long, flat strokes before changing the pace and entering her with his mouth and fingers._

 _Her legs shake and lock Mitch's head in place, her moans and pants faster and needy. She's going to cum, and Mitch wants to taste every drop._

" _You like that?" He asks, finger-fucking her at an alarming pace. She's shaking and shivering, her dreads thrashing about her face, her body drenched in sweat. So vulnerable, so turned on, so desperate._

 _She's perfect._

A walker snaps Mitch out of his lust-filled fantasy. He dispatched of it swiftly and quietly before going back to the work at hand. Spitting on his freshly cleaned palm, he gets back to work.

 _He moves faster, determined to make her cum harder than she's ever came before. Her juices are coating his hands and face, pouring out into the ground beneath them. The strong stench of sex fills the air and it renders him high. His mouth moving, his fingers jabbing and massaging her G-Spot, his soft moans against her womanhood, his captive can't handle the sensations and she screams his name, flooding his tastebuds with her cum. Salty, tangy, sweet, the flavors tickles his mouth like fine wine. He pulls away and licks his lips. He wipes his face with his fingers and licks them clean._

" _Not bad." He smirks. He unzips his jeans and strokes his cock for her._

His hand starts to move faster, his release just around the corner.

" _I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." He announces, wrapping her legs around his shoulders. He slides in with ease, groaning at the sensation. The hot, silky, tightness of her swallows him whole and it's more than enough to make him cum right then and there. He moves faster, slamming her hips against his to make the pleasure for both of them. This is all about her, all about proving how he can make her feel good. He wants her to cum, before he does. He wants her to lose control._

He slows his hand down, thumbing the head. Pace yourself, he tells himself. Pace yourself.

 _Their pace starts slow then it picks up, the slapping of flesh being music to his ears. Within minutes he is bucking against her hard and fast, their orgasm so close he could taste it._

" _Cum," he snarls in her ear. "Cum on my fucking dick."_

 _She screams and cums, her walls gripping him in a vice grip. He thrust sporadically and finally, finally, cums._

He splatters his hand with his release, panting and eyes drooping from satisfaction. He was about to bask in the afterglow when he hears someone calls his name. Cursing, he zips his pants and jogs to the source. It was Tara, who stands behind Rasta Bitch and Santa Claus.

"It's showtime," she declares. Mitch gets a good look at Rasta Bitch and smiles.

If only she knew.


End file.
